


I Only Wanna Talk

by dafeedil



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Sex, Angst, Ashton is sort of like a pimp, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, College, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Escort Service, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Prostitution, Rimming, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Romance, and he does have one mild anxiety attack, bottom!Michael, but it's not developed enough for me to REALLY tag it, escort!Calum, malum, muke is kind of in this, okay but listen Michael has hints of monophobia, so be careful, this is so hard to explain honestly, top!Calum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3157538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dafeedil/pseuds/dafeedil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks it <em>should</em> feel wrong, kissing Calum here in the dark, when the thousand dollars he paid to have this is sitting neatly in its envelope just feet away. But it doesn’t feel wrong, not at all. In fact, it feels unnatural <em>not</em> to be kissing Calum.</p><p>
  <em>Or, more simply, Michael falls in love with a prostitute.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Only Wanna Talk

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in the works for weeks now. I'm not sure how it came to be this way, because it was supposed to be a 5k thing about Michael meeting a hooker, and it stemmed into this. So I hope you like it.
> 
> Title taken from How We Do It by Lights.
> 
> Any mistakes/errors are my own rip me

>   **"Everyone, at some point in their lives, wakes up in the middle of the night with the feeling that they are all alone in the world, and that nobody loves them now and that nobody will ever love them, and that they will never have a decent night's sleep again and will spend their lives wandering blearily around a loveless landscape, hoping desperately that their circumstances will improve, but suspecting, in their heart of hearts, that they will remain unloved forever. The best thing to do in these circumstances is to wake somebody else up, so that they can feel this way, too."**
> 
> - _Lemony Snicket_

* * *

When Michael comes home from class around four o’clock, his apartment will be empty. Not that it’s usually loud or anything, though. It’s more like, his apartment will be empty _again_. Or, _still empty_.

Bottom line, the apartment is going to be empty.

The twenty year old’s trek up the stairs of his building is treacherous. He’s carrying three large (and very heavy) paper shopping bags, and normally he’d just take the elevator, but that’s been shut down for repair recently. It especially sucks that the lift is broken because the neighbor on his left is an old widowed woman named Edith with bad knees, and he can’t just let her struggle down three flights of steps, so he always gives himself extra time in the morning to make sure she gets out of the building unscathed.

The neighbor to his right is a single mother named Laura, and her toddler son (Dylan, he thinks). He doesn’t see much of them, just sometimes gets her mail mixed up with his and can hear her call out to the child through the thin wall they share.

When he reaches his floor, he pauses to breathe heavily, damning the old building and its lack of functioning elevators. He finds himself wishing his parents that fund every other aspect of his life would’ve rented him a nicer apartment, but then he reminds himself he doesn’t really want that. He bought this place _himself_. It’s the one thing that hasn’t been handed to him on a platter in his entire life, and he wouldn’t exchange that for anything.

The single mother and her son are just exiting their apartment as Michael approaches his, juggling his keys, the bags, and his backpack. It’s a struggle, and Laura doesn’t offer to help him, just scuffles her kid along and mumbles something to the child about being late to grandpa’s house.

He makes a noise of victory when the door creaks open, shuffling inside and kicking the door shut behind him with his heel at the same time he bumps the kitchen light on with his elbow.

The LED’s flicker on, dimly lighting the room as heat starts to brighten them up slowly. Michael sets the bags down on the counter, sighing loudly, and he’s pretty sure that small noise actually echoes throughout his living space, ricocheting off the walls tauntingly. Menacingly.

It’s fucking lonely.

He tries to start making his dinner. It goes pretty well for the most part, but after a few minutes the sound of the knife against the cutting board is grating on him, it makes him want to scream.

Frustrated, he walks out of the kitchen and into the living room, clicking on the TV and pushing the volume up so loud it’s almost unbearable. It’s better than the hideous silence, though, Michael decides.

Dinner goes smoothly, he finishes his forum post for class an hour before it’s supposed to be uploaded, leaving him with extra time that he doesn’t typically have at night. Hesitantly, he turns off the television, the sudden lack of noise slicing through his eardrums like the moment when you pause music that’s been blaring through your headphones for several minutes.

He used to like the peace and quiet. After years of being smothered by rich and successful parents that were all over him, he sort of enjoyed the alone time. Only, somewhere along the line, it stopped being enjoyable and became, like, the bane of his existence. His parents thrust him out into the real world and haven’t allowed him back, thinking that if they just funded everything for Michael maybe he wouldn’t ever come back to bother them in retirement.

But they can’t buy him love.

It sounds so cheesy, and Michael is hyperaware of that. He _knows_ it’s weird, this thing he craves. _Love_ is the only word he can use to describe the thing that’s missing in his life.

Not even, like, romantic love. He doesn’t necessarily have a drive for sex or a need to be kissed. He just wants to _talk_. Wants to be held as he falls asleep, wants someone to create a balance in this silent, empty apartment that makes Michael’s ears ring.

It’s just that what he’s looking for is so hard to come by if he’s not dating someone. How can he just…ask someone to _hold_ him? To stroke his hair and whisper sweet nothings as he drifts to sleep?

Michael makes his way to his bedroom, sending his perfectly made bed a dirty look as though that will make it seem more occupied, more appealing, less uninviting. The look does nothing, as expected, and the boy just sighs for the hundredth time that night, disappointed yet again.

He wonders when he stopped living life and started just surviving it.

He wonders how someone could ever turn it all back around.

He wonders if that’s even possible.

*****

Michael’s embarrassed.

He’s heard about people like this, the person he’s being now, always thought they were outrageous and pathetic for resorting to money. For _paying_ to feel loved. Standing outside this little flower shop that is so much more than just a flower shop, he feels filthy, because he’s being a complete hypocrite.

It’s not as though he’s going about it in a trashy way, at least. He’s not, like, driving around red light districts and praying one of the guys (or even girls, at this point) will be what he’s looking for. No, he’s tackling this in the most professional way he knows how, after a week of solid research following the night he hit his breaking point, throwing his remote against the television and crying out all the emptiness he’s felt for months.

He called ahead of time, letting the owner know he’d be stopping by for a bit more than just hydrangeas.

Cautiously, Michael enters the building, and there’s only a couple of people in the shop, perusing the racks of seeds and pre-made bouquets. A tall, tanned, broad man is standing at the counter, honey colored curls falling into his face as he reads some novel. He’s wearing black framed glasses, and as Michael approaches him, he can see the name tag pinned to his shirt. _Ashton_ , it says.

Shakily, Michael exhales, then steps up to the man. He looks up, hazel eyes meeting Michael’s light green ones, and he smiles softly.

“Can I help you?” Ashton asks chirpily, dog-earring the page he’s been reading and closing the cover.

Michael thinks back to what the website for the service told him to say, to signal what he’s really here for to the owner, who appears to be this Ashton guy.

“Yeah. Um, I’m here for a…” Michael trails off, brushing his nose with the back of his sleeve nervously. “Poinsettia bouquet?”

Ashton sits up a little straighter, pushing his forgotten novel off to the side. _Bingo_ , Michael thinks.

“Those aren’t in season.” Ashton replies, following the script from the website perfectly. At least Michael knows he’s in the right place, that he isn’t going to embarrass himself. Well, he’ll probably end up embarrassing himself no matter what, but at least he’ll do it in the correct location.

“I know.” Michael says flatly.

Ashton shuffles through some papers behind the counter where Michael can’t see, then meets his eyes again after a few seconds. “You’re Michael, I’m guessing?”

It feels so outrageous, like they’re making some sort of scandalous drug deal in an undercover operation. Though, he guesses that hiring an escort is just as scandalous as any drug deal.

Michael nods, and Ashton waves him behind the counter, leading him into the back room. Once they’re away from potentially suspecting eyes, Ashton asks for his ID, and Michael hands over all his information for the service’s records. Ashton thanks him, then gives the ID back, showing Michael through to another room.

He guesses this is where Ashton runs his real business, the office of the flower shop that he owns as a cover. It’s not a bad idea, Michael ahs to admit. He’s somewhat jealous he never thought of something like this. Not that illegal operations are his forte, per se, it’s just an ingenious plan.

“I want you to know that what we’re doing here isn’t against the law,” Ashton begins, and Michael almost laughs at how the man has seemingly read his mind. He refrains, however, because he guesses it would make him seem less professional. “So long as you and your companion don’t discuss sex and pricing in a public place. Capiche?”

Michael nods affirmatively, biting his tongue on a comment about how calling his escort a companion doesn’t make it any better. This person is still a prostitute, even _if_ Michael has no intention of having sex with them. It’s still their job title, and Michael still feels uncomfortable with this whole thing.

*****

The escort’s name is Calum, and he’s nineteen years old.

That’s all the background information Calum has, other than the fact that he’s male. Which was sort of obvious from the name, so it’s not like an excitingly helpful piece of information.

The hotel Ashton set up is nice. It’s one of those industrially decorated lofts, with stainless steel furnishings in the bathroom and kitchenette, a King sized bed with a tall black frame in the bedroom. The window beside the bed takes up an entire wall, and Michael has to keep the lights off in that room to avoid seeing his reflection in it and feeling reminded of a fish in a bowl.

That’s how he feels. Confined. Overlooked. Like a fish in a bowl.

A knock on the door has Michael yelping, and he curses under his breath when he realizes the person on the other side will likely have heard the embarrassing noise.

After giving himself a quick once-over in the hallway mirror, Michael opens the door, and he’s met with quite possibly the most gorgeous boy on the planet.

He’s tanned in this natural way, with dark brown hair that looks perfectly fluffed. He’s thin, but built, standing only about half an inch shorter than Michael, dressed in black jeans and a tucked-in white button up shirt. His lips are impossibly full, so kissable, and Michael thinks that maybe he’ll have to indulge in a quick taste, even if he swore he wouldn’t.

“Michael Clifford, I presume?” He asks, dark brown eyes taking in Michael’s appearance the same way Michael imagines he did to the other boy.

Michael nods, widening the door and stepping aside so that the escort can enter the room. “Calum?” Michael verifies, huffing in relief when the boy nods his confirmation.

He shuts the door behind them, showing Calum to the small living room. “Do you have our arrangement?” Calum asks, sounding so formal, it almost feels uncomfortable. But that’s probably more because Michael’s so out of his element rather than Calum being too tight laced about his job.

Michael fumbles around in his pocket, almost forgetting about the upfront payment Ashton had told him about. His hands wrap around the envelope, and he hands it to Calum, who cautiously grabs it and sets to counting the one thousand dollars there, right in front of Michael.

It was effortless, really, coming up with the money. He just shot his parents an email sugar coated with talk about how well classes are going and how much he enjoys the States, then quickly added in a request for some cash for a car so he didn’t have to take the bus anymore. Within two days, there was no reply in his inbox, but an overwhelming ten thousand dollars showed up in his bank account, so there was also no complaint.

Pleased, Calum stuffs the bills back into the envelope and sets it on the coffee table, looking to Michael with a soft smile on his face.

“So, Michael, tell me about yourself.” Calum begins, inching towards the other boy.

Michael bites his lip, blushing, and he realizes he must look like a naïve child of some sort. He feels like one, so it’s not surprising that he should look the part.

“What do you mean?”

Calum chuckles softly. “Like, what kind of things can I do for you? I’m yours all night, baby, so anything you like, I can do it for you.” He’s closer now, in Michael’s personal space and breathing hotly against the boy’s pale skin. Michael can’t help but feel nauseous when Calum calls him baby. Not because it doesn’t sound nice rolling off of his tongue, but because he can practically sense all the other men Calum’s whispered the word to in much more compromising situations.

He thinks Calum’s far too beautiful to have to call Michael baby. To call anyone baby.

“I just…want to sleep with you.” Michael whispers, and Calum giggles, a lovely sound. Only, Michael’s not really joking, and he should probably clarify that before he humiliates himself any further.

“Well, duh,” Calum teases, pressing light kisses along Michael’s jaw. Which feels incredible, and Michael wants to let him continue, but this is exactly what he didn’t want out of this. The kissing and sex would feel too impersonal. He wants closeness, he figures that’s not too much to ask.

“No, Calum, I mean. Like, literally just… _sleep_.” Michael says, turning his head away from the burning brush of Calum’s lips.

Calum looks lost, thrown off of his game and completely confused. “You mean, like, no sex?”

Michael shakes his head, eyes lowering so he doesn’t have to see the dazed look on this gorgeous boy’s face for another second.

“No sex.” He mumbles.

There’s some shuffling beside him, and then suddenly there’s a hand underneath his chin, lifting Michael’s gaze back to Calum’s. “Don’t be embarrassed, Michael. I may have never gotten a request like that before, but I’m still yours all night. I do what _you_ want.”

And although that’s not quite the response he’s looking for, what with its suggestive undertones, he appreciates the understanding Calum offers him. He smiles at the brunette, who beams right back.

He leads Calum to the bedroom slowly, feeling the weight of brown eyes on him the whole time. When they reach the bed, Calum’s still looking at him, raising an eyebrow at Michael from across the duvet.

“Clothes on or off?” Calum asks, a hint of amusement in his tone. He’s probably not used to asking questions like that, Michael realizes.

“On.” Michael answers instantly, before slipping off his shoes.

Calum does the same, crawling onto the bed afterwards. He lounges on his side, not looking even slightly uncomfortable or out of place. Michael feels both of those things in that moment.

The brunette pats the space beside him, looking up at Michael and yawning softly, as though the suggestion of sleep has suddenly made him acutely aware of how tired he actually is. Michael can relate.

“C’mon, then, lay down with me.” Calum says, and before Michael can think twice, he’s clambering into the bed alongside Calum. The brunette leaves an arm extended, allowing Michael to curl into his side and rest his head of bleach blonde hair on top of Calum’s clothed chest.

“Good night, Michael.” Calum murmurs, bringing a hand up to pet Michael’s hair. It seems so automatic, subconscious, and Michael has to remind himself a hundred times that he paid for this, that it means nothing.

He gets lost in the moment anyway.

When he wakes up the next morning, Calum is gone, nothing but a business card on the nightstand suggesting the events from the night before even took place.

Michael feels alive again.

*****

The next time he sees Calum is only a week later.

He tried to make it a onetime thing, he honestly did. The first few days after his night with Calum were some of the best he’s experienced in months, so full of joy and fondness that his apartment didn’t feel so dark and dreary and _empty_ anymore.

But then, like all good things, the feelings passed, and Michael found himself struggling not to break things for just a bit of noise.

He tried to make friends with Laura, but every time he approached her, she just nodded tightly and brought Dylan a little closer to her side. He tried to make conversation with Edith, but she couldn’t keep up with Michael any more than Michael could stay patient with her.

So after a long day of classes and an hour of mindless television, Michael called the flower shop and set up a date with Ashton.

It’s the same hotel, but a different room. There’s no large window this time, so Michael doesn’t have to feel so trapped anymore, looking at it.

Calum is in bed next to him, laying back on some stacked pillows and letting Michael lay his head on his abdomen. He’s playing with Michael’s hair absentmindedly, and it feels strangely domestic.

Michael tries not to think of the thousand dollars in the envelope on the nightstand that have granted him this peaceful moment.

“You still awake?” Michael asks into the silence of the room. It’s only a whisper, but he’s sure Calum heard him, judging by the brief pause in the strokes on his head.

“I…yeah, sorry, I thought you were asleep already.” Calum admits, but he doesn’t stop petting Michael’s hair, and the blonde boy feels his heart swell at that realization.

Michael shakes his head and shrugs. “Don’t apologize. I just couldn’t sleep is all.”

Calum moves his caresses to Michael’s shoulder, rubbing softly and Michael sinks into it, finds himself chasing Calum’s touch wherever it wanders. “Why not? Something on your mind?”

Michael rolls over so that his chin is resting on Calum’s stomach, and he looks up at the boy’s face. “Not exactly.”

“Can I ask you something?” Calum inquires, pausing all movements of his hand. Michael just nods. “Why do you waste all this money for someone just to hold you?”

The blonde bites his lip, rolling away from Calum so his back is facing him. He’s cold and somewhat lonely for a moment, before the brunette’s body is pressing up behind Michael’s, an arm snaking around his waist and holding him closer.

“Same reason your other customers do, I guess. Looking for companionship,” Michael says simply.

Calum snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not the same, and you know it. What I do for them and what I do for you is so different, and I just…you’re so cute and likable. Why would you need to get this from _me_?”

He doesn’t elaborate on the reason he emphasizes ‘me’, he doesn’t need to. Michael knows what Calum’s saying. Why would he resort to _hookers_ , is what Calum really means.

Michael just shrugs, as if that’s an adequate response. “I’m just busy,” he says. “And it’s like I’ve dropped off the face of the Earth to everyone that used to matter to me.”

Calum makes a discontented noise, pulling Michael’s back side impossibly closer to his front. “Well, I’d be _very_ sad if you dropped off the face of the Earth. Whether I matter to you or not.”

He fights the urge to tell Calum that he does matter to Michael, in this weird little way. Instead, he just lets himself relax in Calum’s arms, drifting to sleep with the brunette’s thumb tracing patterns onto his hip.

When he wakes up and Calum is gone, he still matters.

*****

Five days later, Michael is shaking.

He’s in the middle of his living room floor, curled into a ball, fists clenched tightly into his chest as he squeezes his eyes shut. He’s trying to distance himself, really, from the darkness and impending silence of his apartment. And it’s not working.

He made it to class just fine, enjoyed the light discussion the professor made everyone engage in, liked pretending it was casual conversation at a coffee shop with old friends. The realization that he has no true friends to reminisce with in real life set in on his walk home, the weight of it crashing into his chest in waves and he barely made it up the stairs. Barely made it through the door, _couldn’t_ make it to his bed.

He can’t breathe.

He unclenches his trembling hands, tries wrapping them around himself and squeezing, rocking into his own embrace, but it’s not the same, it’s not the touch he needs. He needs an outsider, someone to tell him everything’s fine and he’s not as alone as he feels.

He needs _Calum_.

And so he calls Ashton a third time.

*****

It’s dark in the hotel room, the only light being that of the moon streaking in through the curtains. It’s silent, but this time it’s okay, because Michael knows he’s not alone. Knows because he can physically _feel_ it, Calum’s arm wrapped around his hips as the brunette lays face down on the bed beside Michael.

Michael’s tracing the intricate tattoos on Calum’s bicep and forearm, previously unknown to him because until this point they’ve been sleeping fully clothed. They’re shirtless this time, because the AC isn’t wonderful in this hotel, but nobody’s complained yet.

“Calum?” Michael murmurs, slicing through the comfortable quiet.

Calum only hums, shifting his hips a little and pressing tighter into Michael’s side. “Yeah?”

The blonde boy bites his lip, looking up at the ceiling and willing back the tears that start prickling at his eyes. “I think I’m fucked up.”

Calum pushes onto his side, holding himself up on his elbow to stare down at Michael. “What?”

Michael shrugs, turning his face away from Calum’s intense stare. “Forget it, I’m sorry. It’s stupid.” He _feels_ stupid, is what he wants to say, because like, who confesses something like that to an escort? To their one-thousand-dollar-a-night prostitute, who sees them as nothing more than a paycheck?

There’s fingers suddenly brushing along Michael’s stubbly cheek, tucking under his jaw and coaxing his head back the other direction. Green meets brown, and Calum smiles softly. “Everyone’s a little fucked up, Michael. I mean, look at me.”

Michael furrows his eyebrows. “You? You’re one of the most put together people I’ve met.”

Calum laughs gently, continuing his caresses on Michael’s face and neck. “I’m definitely a lot more fucked up than I look.”

Michael frowns, rolling onto his side so that he and Calum are laying face to face. He reaches for Calum’s hand, entwining their fingers and kissing the back of the brunette’s knuckles. He’s not sure why he does it, because it doesn’t look as though Calum really needs comfort. The guy seems to be perfectly fine with the reality that he’s messed up.

“Why do you accept my offer to just sleep?” Michael asks without thinking. It’s not even relevant to their previous conversation; he just sometimes lacks a filter.

“It’s a nice change, I guess.”

“From what?”

Calum looks taken aback, suddenly tensing up and pulling his hand away from Michael’s. The blonde boy almost whimpers out loud, needing the touch, the verification that he’s not imagining this, that Calum is _real_ and actually here next to him.

He doesn’t pry any further, knowing he’s overstepped his boundaries when Calum rolls onto his back and mumbles something about getting some sleep.

Michael isn’t going to be able to sleep this far from him, really, so he slithers into Calum’s side, sighs in relief when Calum lets him stay there.

Calum’s gone again in the morning, but it’s okay.

Michael can still feel the indent on the mattress where the boy had been, and it’s enough.

*****

When Michael comes home from class two days later, Laura is sitting outside of her apartment, back against the door, a bottle of Jack Daniels in her hand. She actually greets him when he reaches his floor, and he pauses, staring blankly.

“Hey, Michael,” she says, smiling up at him, and Michael notices that she’s actually quite pretty. She’s got to barely be in her twenties, he never noticed because he never got a long enough look at her before.

“You know my name?” He asks, shocked, and she just giggles softly.

“Of course I do. You’re my neighbor, aren’t you?” The question is rhetorical, but Michael almost wonders if she’s asking because she’s too drunk to remember rather than because she’s trying to make a point.

Michael nods, taking a step towards his apartment. He’s about to unlock the door and try to brush off this awkward exchange, but then he remembers she has a son, and if she’s drunk and the boy isn’t being looked after…well, that’s not something he could live with ignoring.

“Where’s, uh…?” He trails off, worrying he might forget the boy’s name.

“Dylan?” She finishes, and Michael sighs in relief, knowing he hasn’t had the kid’s name wrong all these months. He nods, and she pats the ground next to her.

She wants Michael to sit with her.

Hesitantly, he lowers himself beside his neighbor, letting his back rest up against the wall between their two doors. She hands him the bottle, and he just takes it, not entirely sure what she expects of him.

“He’s at my dad’s for the weekend. I just…I needed some time, you know?” Laura says lowly, head tilting back and thumping softly against the wall.

“Time, like…alone time?” Michael clarifies, and his neighbor shakes her head.

“Not alone time. I’d rather be with my son. Just…sometimes you have to _force_ yourself to sit down and recuperate when you’re a parent.” Laura shrugs, laughing halfheartedly. “I’ve spent years taking care of another person, even longer taking care of that person’s father, and now that I have time to myself, I don’t know what to do with it.”

Michael nods, because he gets it. He feels the same thing Laura’s feeling, just on a different scale because he sought out the alone time, wanted to get away from his family and now he’s not quite sure how to live without them, and it’s after that realization that he takes a swig of the whiskey. She giggles as he cringes, taking it back from him when he offers it to her.

“It’s terrifying.” Michael agrees.

“Crippling.” His neighbor adds.

They sit in comfortable silence for a long while, ignoring the strange looks from other residents that ascend the staircase and pass by them on their way home. They continue passing the bottle until it’s nearly empty, until every nerve in Michael’s body is wired, and for the first time outside of when he pays Calum to do it, he feels less alone in the world.

*****

Michael wakes up to fidgeting, followed by a shift in the bed that all too clearly signals someone getting out of it.

He sits up quickly, because he only fell asleep an hour ago, and it is _not_ time for Calum to leave yet, damn it.

“Where are you going?” Michael asks, knowing how needy and desperate his voice sounds, but he doesn’t try to cover it up. It’s not as if Calum doesn’t already know how wrecked Michael is for him.

The brunette looks shocked, probably surprised to have been caught. He’s only halfway out of bed, one foot on the floor and the other still under the duvet. “I was only going to get a sleeping pill, I promise. I wouldn’t leave you yet.”

Michael chooses to ignore the ‘yet’.

The blonde makes grabby hands, and Calum smirks, raising an eyebrow. “Sleeping pills are useless compared to my snuggles.” Michael pouts.

Calum erupts into laughter, almost falling over with the force of it.

“I’m serious,” Michael says, matter-of-factly. “Talking and belly rubs are more helpful than any pill, I promise you.”

Calum keeps giggling, but he nods, folding himself back under the duvet and scooting closer to Michael. The blonde smiles, pressing himself into Calum’s side, fingertips trailing along his bare torso dreamily. Distantly, he wonders if anyone’s ever done this for the younger boy, coddled him or touched him without the intent to use his body.

“Hey, Michael?” Calum asks, and Michael squirms in acknowledgement, resting his head on the brunette’s chest. “If you don’t mind me asking, where does a guy your age get money to afford this?”

He knows Calum’s talking about their arrangement, knows he’s wondering how a college student can possibly afford to hire an expensive escort as often as he does. And Michael’s never really shared his story with anyone, but in the safety of their hotel room, their bubble where it’s like they can say anything, he decides he might as well tell it.

“My parents. They’ll pretty much give me as much money as I want if it’ll keep me out of my hometown.” Michael says simply, never ceasing his strokes along Calum’s stomach.

The brunette sighs, wrapping a toned arm around Michael’s shoulders, squeezing gently. It’s not a real response, but it makes sense in their strange relationship. They speak almost exclusively through touches and comforting gestures, so Calum’s squeeze says anything and everything Michael wants it to mean in that moment.

As usual, Calum’s gone and the sun is out by the time Michael wakes up.

*****

The bed is huge in this hotel, bigger than any of the beds in the other places Ashton has booked for them. If they were to lay on their distinguished sides, there would be miles of sheets between them, but they’re not on separate sides.

They’re sitting up, backs leaned against pillows resting on the headboard, Calum’s arm wrapped around Michael’s waist. The blonde is resting his head on Calum’s shoulder, and the only light in the room is from the television on the wall.

The sound on the TV is low, but Michael’s not really paying attention to what’s on, anyway. He knows it’s a romantic comedy of some kind, because every few minutes Calum will chuckle or let out an ‘aww’.

He doesn’t have the heart to tell Calum to change the channel, because if he did, Calum would ask for an explanation as to why. And what is Michael supposed to say to that? ‘Sorry, I can’t watch cute couples on television because it reminds me that I can’t have you’?

“I can’t have you.” Michael accidentally whispers, sleep groggy mind apparently loosening the slack on his filter as he falls between the conscious and the unconscious.

Calum stirs a little, pulling back to look down at the blonde boy. “What’s that?”

Michael’s cheeks heat, and he shifts lower on the bed, until his head is pressed flat against the mattress. He pulls the duvet over his head, making an embarrassed noise, and he hears the brunette laugh above him.

The flickering light of the television greets him again when Calum peels the covers away from his face. He looks up sheepishly, and Calum’s just smiling softly down at him, the movie seemingly long forgotten.

“Sweetheart, what do you mean you can’t have me? I’m yours, you know that.” Calum tells him, reaching out and stroking strands of blonde hair away from his face.

What Michael means and what Calum’s saying are two totally different things, and he’s pretty sure Calum knows that.

Michael also knows his developing feelings for Calum are stupid, because Calum is so off limits that he’s practically the definition of the term. Which is why Michael can’t have him.

However, he doesn’t stop the younger boy when he lowers himself down, pressing a chaste kiss to Michael’s jaw. He simply tilts his head up, capturing Calum’s mouth with his own.

Calum makes a surprised noise, because this is the first time in all the nights they’ve spent together that Michael has made a move of any kind. Michael’s surprised, too, more because he finds himself not feeling dirty or guilty or wrong about any of it.

He thinks it _should_ feel wrong, kissing Calum here in the dark, when the thousand dollars he paid to have this is sitting neatly in its envelope just feet away. But it doesn’t feel wrong, not at all, when Calum moves his body so that he’s lying next to Michael instead of sitting up, curling his hand around the back of the blonde’s neck. In fact, it feels unnatural _not_ to be kissing Calum.

It’s the closest he’s felt to anyone in almost a year.

He feels a little bit in love.

*****

When Michael comes home from class a few days later, Laura is outside her apartment again. Only this time, she’s not drunk or mopey, she’s smiling brightly, listening as Dylan drones on about something exciting they did in preschool that day.

He catches her eye, winking, and she smiles softly, giving him a slow nod.

It’s not exactly friendship, but it’s the closest thing he’s had to it since he moved to the States for college. So he’ll take it.

When he unlocks his door and pushes it open, he’s greeted with the soft hum of his air conditioning, and for some reason, it doesn’t feel as empty. Like everything is more bearable because he can hear Laura through one wall, and if he listens closely, he can hear Edith’s television through the other.

And he realizes.

He’s never been alone, it’s never been quiet, not _really_ , he just hasn’t let himself listen until now.

*****

Michael could get used to this.

Could get used to the television casting shadows on the mattress, could get used to the boy hovering over him, could _definitely_ get used to the way he kisses.

Michael whimpers, trailing his fingertips along Calum’s sides, loving the way he kisses harder in response. The brunette brings a hand up, grasping Michael’s hair and humming, tracing his tongue along Michael’s bottom lip before biting it softly.

They kiss for what feels like hours (could very well be, Michael doesn’t seem to keep track of time when Calum’s around), before Michael pulls away, pushing Calum onto his side and slithering close. They’re face to face,  Michael’s foot tracing up and down Calum’s calf gently, just to keep some form of intimate contact.

“Cal?” Michael whispers, voice seemingly loud in the tiny gap of space between their mouths.

“Mm?” Calum responds, not bothering with any real words.

“Am I allowed to know more about you? I mean, now that I’m six thousand dollars into this?” Michael asks, and although it might sound teasing, he’s actually curious.

Calum seems to pick up on this, because he chuckles, but follows it up with a long sigh. “I don’t know. What do you want to know? I’m not that interesting.”

He doesn’t bother telling Calum that he thinks everything the boy does is interesting in its own way, just clears his throat. “I just…I was wondering why you do this. The escort thing. You seem like you have so much potential, I just—”

“Please don’t tell me how much _potential_ I have.” Calum bites, and Michael gasps softly, eyes widening. He knows he was out of line, knew it as soon as he opened his fucking mouth, he just didn’t expect to be called out on it, and now he feels overwhelmingly embarrassed.

“I’m sorry.” Michael says, and he means it.

Calum sighs, reaching up and dragging a hand down his face. “Fuck, no, _I’m_ sorry. You don’t deserve to be snapped at.”

Michael bites his lip. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It was such a stereotypical thing to say, I shouldn’t have assumed anything.”

The brunette leans forward, planting a gentle kiss to Michael’s cheek. “You’re sweet, Mikey, but it’s okay. You’re right, I could have a lot going for me if it weren’t for my job. The escort thing, it’s like…we entered the business back in high school, Ash and I, so that we could save up money to bust out of our shitty hometown.” Calum looks down between them, to his hands, and Michael doesn’t force him to look back up because he can practically feel the effort it’s taking for Calum to confess to this.

“It was just going to be for college, at first. Make enough to get us out on our own and a semester started, then find real jobs. We had the grades for scholarships and everything. It’s just, we got wrapped up in it, and there’s a lot of money to be made the way we’ve built the business, the way Ash runs it. It’s too hard to walk away from the cash at this point.” Calum shrugs.

Michael doesn’t realize his chest is tight until Calum looks back into his eyes, and he has to inhale in order to keep on living. Calum always takes his breath away.

Calum wiggles closer, burying his face in Michael’s neck, kissing his collarbone. “Can I stay right here? Like this, all night?” He asks.

“Of course,” Michael says without hesitation, bringing a hand to wrap around Calum’s waist, holding him closer.

He’s not sure how Calum could possibly find his way out of the iron grip in the morning, because Michael doesn’t intend to let him go for anything, but he manages to do so anyway.

*****

Michael wants to drop out of college.

He doesn’t, really, that’s a total lie, but this new project they’ve been assigned is going to kill him. As if he didn’t have enough going on with midterms coming up, now he has a fucking presentation due next week and he hasn’t the slightest clue what he’s doing.

He knows it’s supposed to be an analysis on a collection of poems of his choice, but he sucks at poetry, has a hard time writing it, is bad at reading it, even worse at _interpreting_ it. He only signed up for this damn class to appease his parents who seemed to think Classic Literature was a key component of the business degree they have him on track to complete.

Michael groans again when the professor dismisses them, everyone erupting into a buzz about the poems they’re doing, some immediately scurrying off to their friends in hopes of pairing up on the analysis. It all feels very year twelve, like the teacher has just given group work, and everyone instantly turns to their BFF like someone else might pick them first.

He’s in the middle of packing up his things, sliding his text book and laptop into his bag, when someone taps him on the shoulder.

He startles, jumping a bit and swiveling to see a sheepish looking boy with quiffed golden hair, baby blue eyes, and the cutest fucking nose Michael’s ever seen.

The boy looks just as shocked as Michael, which is a bit ridiculous since _he’s_ the one that touched _Michael_. The expression washes off of his face after a second, though, and he grins widely.

“Hey, I’m Luke,” he beams, extending his hand enthusiastically.

Michael raises an eyebrow, but reaches out and shakes Luke’s hand anyway. “Michael.”

Luke keeps right on smiling, adjusting the text books in his hand before motioning towards the chalk board where their professor wrote down the assignment. “I was wondering if you had any idea what the hell we’re supposed to be doing?”

Michael pauses for a second, then laughs once, shaking his head. “No fucking idea, buddy.”

The blue eyed boy frowns, and Michael distantly thinks that a frowning Luke is just no good, he doesn’t like it one bit. “Oh.”

Michael shrugs, sliding his bag over his shoulder. “Yeah, sorry. Wish there was something I could do.” He goes to turn and walk down the steps so he can leave the lecture hall, but Luke steps closer just as he’s about to.

“I was just thinking we could partner up on it? Maybe help each other out? The professor _did_ say we could do a joint project.”

Michael draws back for a moment, flabbergasted, before his jaw actually _drops_. Luke seems to think it’s hilarious, because he giggles adorably, reaching up and closing his mouth for him.

“Why me?” Michael asks.

The boy furrows his eyebrows, confused. “What do you mean, _why_? I think we’d work well together, that we could get a really good grade. You’re nice and the things you say in class are super intellectual even though I’m pretty sure you don’t realize it.” He blushes even though he’s the one _giving_ the compliment, and it makes Michael chuckle.

“Didn’t think anyone was paying attention to what I said in class.” Michael confesses honestly.

Luke’s smile softens but remains present, and he looks down at his feet, which he’s crossing and uncrossing nervously. “I always pay attention to the things you say.”

At those words, Michael can’t even be bothered to fight the warmth that prickles across his skin.

*****

It’s his seventh night with Calum, and Michael is having a hard time focusing.

They’re attached at the lips, Michael on top this time, a tangled mess of tongues and limbs. He’s tracing his hand along Calum’s waist, fingers pressing in and pulling up occasionally, bringing their hips together in this slow easy grind that really isn’t meant to get them hard, is just meant to bring them closer.

Calum’s hands are caressing his neck, pulling Michael down in a hard press so that their breaths mix into one and the blonde boy’s head is swimming.

The brunette pulls back for air, turning his head to the side as he closes his eyes and whimpers a little (okay, so maybe the easy grind isn’t so easy anymore, sue him). Michael’s eyes ravage over him, taking in his lovely appearance, when they catch on something that doesn’t quite belong.

In reality, it _does_ belong, given Calum’s profession, but that doesn’t make Michael any happier to see a damn _trail of hickeys_ along Calum’s neck that aren’t from Michael.

He halts all movement, and Calum looks up at him the very second he does. Michael looks right back, wants to cry when their eyes meet and he suddenly feels _fucking everything_ that Calum feels.

The boy below him looks so _tired_. His eyes are red and there’s bags underneath them and for once, he doesn’t look perfectly put together. There’s cracks in his exterior, little flicks of the real Calum shining through, the one that isn’t marvelous and rolling in money from his expensive price. The one that’s just a lost boy that life finally caught up to.

“Cal,” Michael says, voice breaking, and the brunette closes his eyes instantly. He shakes his head, probably noticing the reflection of what Michael’s seen, willing it to disappear.

Michael isn’t having it.

He wants Calum to feel how loved he is, how much Michael fucking _cares_ , because every man that’s ever put his hands on Calum and marked him up like that only to leave him so hollow and exhausted like this has hell to pay in Michael’s book. Calum doesn’t deserve to feel _any_ of the things he looks.

“Calum,” Michael repeats, stroking the backs of his fingers down the boy’s cheek. It’s such a flipped version of what they usually do, Michael doing the touching and soothing instead of the brunette, and Calum isn’t even fighting it.

The brunette opens his eyes again, looking right into Michael’s, and it startles the breath out from the blonde’s lungs.

“Michael,” he replies, and just his name rolling off Calum’s tongue sounds exasperated and torn. Not forced, just desperate. “ _Please_.”

He doesn’t know if Calum’s pleading for him to drop it or continue, so he brings his touch lower, running the pads of his fingers over the bruises scattered along the tan skin of Calum’s neck and collarbone. Some are darker than others, hinting that they’re fresh, and Michael suddenly feels dirty. Not because Calum’s allowed another man to kiss him, but because Michael’s no better than those men anymore. Not really.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Michael whispers into the small space between them, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to Calum’s forehead.

Calum chuckles halfheartedly. “You paid me, I can’t tell you to stop.”

Michael reels back, gazing intensely down at the tired boy. “None of that, Calum. If you don’t want it, tell me. I won’t be like them.”

He doesn’t clarify who he means by ‘them’, but Calum seems to get it because he whimpers shakily and nods in understanding.

Then, unexpectedly, Calum murmurs, “You’d never be like them, Michael. You’re the only one who doesn’t make me feel filthy.”

Michael inhales sharply, curling into Calum’s neck and shaking his head. “You’re not filthy, Calum. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Calum hums in what sounds like disagreement, but Michael knows he won’t be able to change the boy’s mind, so he just starts planting closed mouth kisses to Calum’s throat, continuing the slow roll of his hips.

The brunette whines underneath him, and Michael can feel the sound vibrate in the boy’s larynx through his lips that are running over it. He gets a little caught up in the friction between them, lets out a slow, shaky moan, then remembers he’s only doing this for Calum. He could care less about getting himself off, he just wants this exhausted boy below him to know he’s not some object, to feel so good he forgets his troubles for however brief a moment.

“You’re not like them,” Calum says suddenly, out of the blue. “I want it.”

Michael looks into his eyes again, leaning down and pressing an easy kiss to the boy’s swollen lips. They move together easily, practiced even though it’s only the third time they’ve kissed since Michael started seeing Calum.

He begins to snake his way down Calum’s body, stopping once he’s made it about a foot. He sits back on his ankles, knees splayed out on either side of the tanned boy’s hips, and he grabs one of Calum’s toned arms.

The boy looks confused briefly, then shudders out a breath when Michael kisses the pads of his fingers, presses flutters of his lips all along the boy’s palm and sucks gently onto his wrist. He kisses his way up the brunette’s left arm, slow and careful like he’s got all the time in the world, licking a stripe along Calum’s tattooed collarbone when he’s finished.

He scoots down another few inches, straddling Calum’s thighs now, and he leans in closely to kiss a line from shoulder to shoulder. Calum exhales nervously beneath him, but he doesn’t seem uncomfortable, so Michael continues, pressing open mouthed kisses down the boy’s bare chest and stomach.

When he reaches the waistband of Calum’s jeans, Michael glances up, only to find the boy looking down at him, mouth open and panting shallowly. He nods softly, as if to give Michael further confirmation that this is okay, and so the blonde unfastens the button on the pants carefully.

He climbs off of Calum then, dipping his fingers under the loosened waist and tugging down gently. Calum lifts his hips, aiding Michael in slowly dragging the pants off of the boy’s legs. Which, once they’re revealed, are fucking _stunning_.

Michael lowers himself again, sucking a mark onto Calum’s hip, practically feeling the blood vessels burst beneath the taut skin. Once he’s satisfied with the color forming, he slides lower, licking and nipping along one of Calum’s muscular thighs. He turns his head, kissing along the inside of it, while his hands glide along the brunette’s legs, grasping his calves and pulling up so that both of the boy’s knees are bent.

“Michael,” Calum whispers hoarsely, voice cracking as if it’s the first time he’s spoken in years. Michael spares a glance upwards, and he sees Calum with his elbows holding himself up, straining to see everything Michael’s doing. He wants Calum to relax and _feel_ , though, even more than he wants Calum to watch him, so he uses one hand to rest on Calum’s chest and push him back onto the bed.

Calum squirms beneath Michael’s mouth, and when the blonde looks up again, he sees Calum grinding his ass back against the mattress, only now notices the impressive tent in his boxers.

He smirks, sliding a hand up to palm the boy through the fabric, almost moaning as loud as Calum does at the feeling. The brunette goes from fidgeting to _writhing_ , arching his back and circling his hips like he can’t decide which angle makes it feel the best. Michael just increases the pressure, pushes his hand down more firmly and rubs the boy with more purpose, loving the way he stills and gasps as a result.

It doesn’t feel like Calum’s putting on a show, not like he does for everybody else. It feels real, like he’s actually enjoying what’s being given to him because he knows for _once_ , he won’t have to return the favor.

“I’m gonna take these off now. Is that okay?” Michael asks, and Calum nods, lifting his hips and sliding the boxers off himself. Michael just watches, fascinated at the boy’s beauty, the dexterity he seems to have in everything he does.

His cock is pressed flush against his stomach, angrily hard and gleaming slightly at the tip where he’s already leaking precome. Michael licks his lips subconsciously, doesn’t even notice he’s done it until Calum whimpers.

“You look like you want to eat me alive,” Calum jokes.

“Can’t I?” Michael responds, and the brunette moans softly, nodding and pressing himself closer to Michael.

The blonde positions himself between Calum’s legs again, bending the boy’s knees so that his thighs are framing Michael’s face. He’s always loved the feeling of it, decides he likes it most when he knows the thighs belong to Calum.

He chooses not to waste any more time kissing every inch of Calum’s body, instead wrapping his hand around the boy’s cock and giving it a few experimental jerks. Calum whimpers, tossing his head back into the pillow, and that’s when Michael leans forward, licking flatly over the slit.

“Tell me how you like it,” Michael says, and Calum tenses for a second, before propping up on his elbows and looking down once more.

“What do you mean? Do you not know what you’re doing?” Calum asks, brows furrowing.

Michael chuckles, shaking his head. “No, I know what I’m doing. I’m asking you to tell me what _you_ like, so it feels best for you. It’s about you, remember?” Michael presses a kiss to Calum’s hip as if to elaborate on his point.

Calum pauses for a moment, but ultimately ends up nodding. He reaches one hand out, caressing Michael’s jaw, giggling when the blonde turns his head and kissing the palm quickly. “Okay, um. Just lick a few times, long and slow, from the bottom to the—yeah, like that.”

Michael flattens his tongue, dragging it from the base of the boy’s cock to up over the head, closing his mouth over it and sucking gently. Calum’s hips jerk underneath him, but the boy manages to refrain himself enough to avoid thrusting up.

“Fuck, that feels good, yeah. Keep doing that. You can take a little more now,” Calum rambles, and Michael obeys, repeating the licking and sucking pattern twice more before wrapping his lips around the tip and lowering himself down a few inches.

He glances up, sees Calum still propped on his elbows, head tossed back and neck veins pulsating rapidly. His legs are spread obscenely, and Michael wishes he had an outsiders perspective of how lovely they must look, Calum all fucked out and Michael’s face buried between his thighs.

“Would you—I don’t know if it’s weird for me to ask, but can you go, like, lower?” Calum asks, almost incoherently, but Michael nods, relaxing his throat and forcing himself to take more of Calum into his mouth. “No, sorry, I didn’t mean—no.”

Michael pulls off, confused, breathing heavy and frowning up at Calum. “Cal, you have to tell me what you want. I can’t make it good for you if you don’ t tell me.”

Calum blushes, turning his face away like it’s too much to keep looking at the blonde boy. “Can you eat me out?”

Michael audibly groans at that, hips thrusting into the mattress on their own accord, because _absolutely_ he can do that, he just never expected Calum to ask.

He brings his lips lower, kissing down Calum’s cock and mouthing over his balls. The brunette’s breath hitches when Michael reaches underneath him, lifting his hips for a better angle.

“Can you hold yourself up?” Michael inquires, and Calum makes a noise of confirmation. Slowly, Michael releases the boy’s hips, observing the way Calum’s legs flex impossibly to live up to his promise. It makes the blonde smirk, hands splaying flatly over Calum’s taut cheeks and spreading them for easier access.

Calum makes a desperate noise, rocking his ass in the general direction of Michael’s face, and the older boy decides not to fuck around, teasing Calum isn’t part of his plan.

Michael licks his lips once, glancing up at the brunette before leaning in and licking a firm, flat stripe over his rim. Calum whines, hips locking and feet arching in order to keep himself up. It gives Michael a sense of pride, knowing how much Calum is enjoying what he’s giving the boy.

He circles the hole with the tip of his tongue, only stopping once he’s satisfied with the amount of saliva collected there. It makes Calum’s entrance look so slick and shiny, impossibly wet and Michael wouldn’t have been able to keep himself from leaning in for another taste even if he’d tried.

“Shit, Mikey, I…” Calum mewls, and when Michael chances a glimpse upwards, he finds Calum with a hand around his cock, jerking himself slowly as he rocks up into his fist and back down onto Michael’s tongue. It makes the blonde moan, press harder.

Calum turns his head away from Michael’s eyes, burying his own brown orbs under the crook of the arm he has draped over his face, whimpering softly.

“No, Cal, don’t close up on me. Tell me.” Michael says huskily after pulling away for a breath. He reaches a hand up, gently laying it on Calum’s stomach, just in the way enough that every time Calum’s fist jerks his cock, his hand rubs against the blonde’s. If the groan that rumbles past his lips is anything to go by, the brush of their hands only spurs the younger boy on.

“I forgot it could feel this good,” Calum murmurs, and it almost sounds broken, like he’s fighting back tears. Michael tenses, almost wants to cry himself because Calum is too fucking _gorgeous_ to be so full of sadness. “It’s been so long since I was with someone who…”

He trails off, almost like he doesn’t have the right words, or like he has the _perfect_ ones and just doesn’t want Michael to hear them.

“I forgot,” Calum says again, voice almost impossibly lower than before, gravelly with lust.

Michael keeps his hand where it is on the boy’s abdomen, returning down to work his tongue into Calum, resulting in a loud moan that cracks Calum’s voice with the force of it.

“Yeah,” he hears from above him, against his hand he can feel Calum jerking himself faster. “Yes,” Calum repeats, hips rocking down twice more before stilling completely.

Calum goes eerily silent then, the only sounds in the room being the slick noise of Calum fucking his fist and the sloppy noises of Michael’s tongue working his hole.

And then Calum is coming over his hand, and Michael’s gets caught in the line of fire as well. A loud cry bursts out of the brunette’s mouth as his hips suddenly resume movement, pressing harder against Michael’s face and Michael just tries his best to keep up. He grips Calum’s thighs and works his tongue deeper, stroking the boy through his orgasm as the aftershocks have him collapsing onto the mattress and writhing, quivering.

Eventually he grips Michael’s hair and pulls him away, overstimulation setting in. He makes a soft noise when Michael’s tongue slips out of him, turns it into a gasp when Michael pushes himself over the boy and slots their lips together gently.

They kiss lazily for awhile, Michael stroking Calum’s torso soothingly as the boy brings himself down, still lax and dead weight after his orgasm.

Michael pushes himself off the bed, and it’s once he’s standing that Calum’s eyes finally travel over his body. He’s suddenly aware that he’s fully clothed while Calum is completely naked, so before going to the bathroom he strips of his shirt and jeans.

He’s still hard in his boxers, especially after having watched Calum come so hard, but he ignores it, heading off to the bathroom in search of a towel instead.

When he comes back into the bedroom with a damp cloth, Calum is back in his boxers, stretched out languidly on the bed with his upper body twisted and face half buried in the pillows. Michael chuckles, kneeling on the mattress and pressing the rag to Calum’s stomach.

The boy must have been expecting it, because he just hums in content and rolls over so Michael can better clean the come off his abs. When he’s done, Calum reaches up, grasping Michael’s neck and pulling the blonde down on top of him.

“You’re still hard. Let me help?” Calum whispers, kissing a line down Michael’s throat.

He tilts his neck to give the boy better access, but still shakes his head. “No, it was about you. Don’t worry about me.”

Calum nods, releasing Michael’s neck before curling into the blonde’s arms and pulling the duvet over them.

It’s over an hour later before Michael finally feels himself drifting to sleep, exhaustion setting in as he listens to Calum’s even breathing.

He’s not expecting it when Calum speaks.

“I think…you make me believe in love again. Which is crazy, and I don’t know how you do that, but you do.” Calum says quietly, and Michael realizes the boy thinks he’s asleep, doesn’t think Michael’s hearing any of this. So Michael bites his tongue and keeps pretending he doesn’t know Calum’s saying anything. “Thank you, Mikey.”

When he wakes up to an empty bed the next morning, Michael still whispers, “You’re welcome.”

*****

Luke’s place is just slightly better than Michael’s, because it has a working elevator, but it’s still sort of worse than Michael’s because it has no functioning AC and it’s stuffy in the studio apartment.

They’ve got all their slides on Catallus’ poems put together and four massive poster boards displayed in the living room. There’s books upon books stacked on Luke’s coffee table, but they’re done, finally _finished_ with the damn presentation, and that’s all Michael can be bothered to think about.

That, and his grumbling stomach.

Luke notices, looking up at Michael (who’s sprawled on the couch) from his spot on the floor with worried eyes.

“Hungry? I can make you something.” He offers, then frowns. “Well, I can make you, like, instant noodles. I don’t think I’ve had real food in my fridge for weeks now.”

Michael feels sort of bad about that, wants to offer to go out and pay for the both of them at some pizza joint, but something tells him that wouldn’t go over so well. Luke’s just a starving college student like almost everyone else in their class. Michael’s the only one with rich parents paying for everything under the sun for him (even a prostitute, though that’s unbeknownst to them). So he just bites the inside of his cheek and nods, smiling.

Luke returns the smile, pushing off of his hands and up to his feet, scampering towards the kitchen like an excitable puppy.

The blue eyed boy is adorable, Michael can’t even deny that. He’s so reserved and careful about the things he chooses to say, but in the last week that they’ve been working on this project, he’s opened up to Michael, peeling back the layers of awkward and revealing that he’s actually really intriguing.

He’s comfortable. Talks enough to fill Michael’s head, but not so much that Michael can’t hear _himself._ He’s playful, and he does this fucking _thing_ with his tongue every time he laughs, sticking it between his teeth at the same time he scrunches his nose up.

Luke also does this thing where he compliments Michael all the time, and even if he can only pretend it’s Calum saying them, Michael will take it because they’re some of the nicest things he’s ever been told.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when Luke returns with a bowl of noodles, and Michael inhales the scent of the broth before smiling softly at the boy. Luke bites his lip on a grin, flicking the TV on to some Comedy Central program before rotating some noodles in his own bowl around his fork.

Michael doesn’t eat or even watch the show, he just stares at Luke’s profile, chuckling when Luke howls with laughter, smirking whenever Luke beams so hard his eyes squint. He’s like this…embodiment of everything nice and good in the world. He’s everything Michael needs.

The only thing is, he doesn’t _feel_ like everything Michael needs, even though he should. Michael knows how good Luke would be for him, knows Luke would take care of him, would let Michael do the same. Knows Luke would fill all the holes and gaps perfectly.

It’s just that he’s not Calum.

Michael’s stupidly allowed himself to believe Calum can be all these things, and hell, maybe he could be. But it’s not a permanent thing, the relationship they have, and Michael can’t possibly let himself build a future based on a thousand dollars a night.

So when Michael’s leaving Luke’s flat an hour later, setting his dishes in the sink and gathering the poster boards, he turns to Luke and says, “Maybe we could get some real food sometime?”

Luke smiles back, nose scrunching up with the sincerity of it. “Absolutely. How’s next week?”

Michael nods, sticking the boards under his arm. “Friday?”

“I’ll pick you up at six.”

*****

It’s been hours since Calum showed up to the hotel, and neither of them have slept yet.

They’re curled up under the covers, hands entwined and Michael’s face buried in Calum’s chest. He’s trying to make himself drowsy, he really is, but the air between them seems electrified in some way. Maybe it’s because of what happened last time they saw each other, or maybe it’s because Michael can just _tell_ Calum’s going to say something he won’t like.

Another thirty minutes pass before Calum finally drops it on him.

“I’m thinking about moving back to my hometown.” Calum whispers.

It’s not as bad as Michael thought it was going to be, not nearly, but it still stings slightly because even though he’s convinced himself he’s not dependent on Calum, he’s grown to find solace in his arms, however audacious that may be.

“Why?” Michael asks.

Calum sighs, thick and heavy, like the weight of it is crushing him. “There’s just…nothing healthy for me here. Not anymore.”

Michael feels sick at those words, has to curl in on himself and turn his face away from Calum’s skin to avoid heaving. He doesn’t want to think that he’s _unhealthy_ for Calum, not for the boy he cares so much about.

Hell, it’s probably _good_ that Calum’s leaving, so Michael can focus on growing with Luke, with someone he doesn’t have to _pay_ to like him. But despite that, he doesn’t think he could handle losing Calum, even though he knows he has no right to ask him to stay. Can’t tell him how close he is to falling in love with the boy, because that’ll only push Calum further away, and Michael can’t handle that.

So he says nothing, just wraps his arms around Calum’s waist and holds him a little tighter, willing the minutes to tick by more slowly.

*****

The restaurant he and Luke wind up at is pretty high end, a steakhouse attached to some hotel and resort. He doesn’t want to think about how Luke can possibly afford this, since there wasn’t food in his fridge last time Michael was over. The guy won’t even let Michael cover his own half, keeps saying that it’s a _date_ , and he’s going to _treat Michael like a prince_.

He already feels guilty enough, though, because they could’ve easily taken the bus or just walked to the restaurant, but Luke had wasted gas to swing by and pick Michael up in his car. He’d tried to tell Luke he doesn’t need to be wooed, he’s on the date already, he _likes_ Luke, but the boy wasn’t hearing it, just kept insisting he was going to do it right.

It’s a good time, even though in his cautiousness not to mess the evening up, Luke had gotten them to the restaurant forty five minutes before their scheduled reservation. So they’re forced to hang out at the bar for awhile, sipping their drinks and talking about anything and everything about themselves.

By his second drink, it strikes Michael that he knows more about Luke’s personal life than Calum’s, the boy he’s falling for, but he reminds himself that that’s a _good_ thing, he’s trying to _change_ , to be happy with Luke and avoid the heartache of falling in love with a boy he can’t have.

And he is happy, kind of. He thinks he could get used to going on dates with Luke, could get used to watching TV whilst snuggled on the couch in Luke’s apartment, could probably get used to kissing the guy as long as it gave him the same butterflies Calum did.

And fuck, he really needs to stop thinking about Calum. The boy is _leaving_ , skipping town and going back to the home he resorted to selling himself to break out of. Which, now that he thinks about it, is really weird, because what’s so unhealthy here that it makes Calum want to run back to an even unhealthier place?

He’s going to be lonely again once Calum leaves, he can already feel it eating away at him, even though he’s got Laura that actually helps him with his groceries now, and Luke that’s sitting right next to him.

He shouldn’t feel so lonely sitting next to someone he wants to make it work with, right? That’s not how it’s supposed to happen, he’s _sure_ of that.

Luke finishes telling a story that Michael only now realizes he hasn’t been listening to, sliding his drink over to the bartender.

“I’m gonna go check on our table, okay?” Luke chirps, and Michael nods, blushing when Luke takes his hand gently and kisses his knuckles.

Luke bounds off, leaving Michael alone at the bar nursing a cocktail he’s not even sure he wants. He doesn’t like it that much, it was just the cheapest thing on the menu, and Luke had insisted he get a drink.

And then he hears it.

This distinct, husky chuckle that he’s been the cause of so many times. It sounds different, out here in the open, surrounded by dozens of other people chatting and the sound of clinking forks on plates. He’s used to hearing it expelled softly into his hair, soothing arms wrapped around him and a body pressed to his side. But it’s still unmistakable.

Michael turns towards the sound, immediately wishing he’d had the foresight to know why Calum would be here, to know better than to look.

The brunette is sitting on a leather couch across the way, some close to middle aged man sitting next to him. There’s a bottle of wine on the table in front of them, each of them clutching a glass of the dark red liquid. Calum’s leaning in close, letting the man whisper in his ear, letting the man keep an arm around him.

Michael wants to vomit.

Not because Calum’s with this guy in the first place, no. He knows what Calum does and he respects that. Knows he can’t _possibly_ be mad at the boy because that’s hypocritical, he’s had Calum for eight nights.

He wants to vomit because of the way this man trails his fingers up Calum’s thigh, fingertips dancing too close to his groin. Because of the way Calum stiffens just slightly when he does so, but the man is either too drunk or too much of a prick to care.

And then he feels even sicker as Calum turns his head to grab the bottle of wine, nearly knocking the thing over when their eyes lock.

Calum’s eyes widen instantaneously, a look Michael can only describe as _remorse_ filling the boy’s expression. His mouth gapes slightly, like he’s going to say something, maybe defend himself (even though he doesn’t need to), but he’s all the way across the room and the man is pulling Calum back into him, so whatever he was going to say, Michael doesn’t get to hear it.

“They’re ready for us,” Luke says brightly, causing Michael to squeal in surprise, spinning back around to where the boy had walked up. Luke laughs, muttering out apologies, and Michael plasters a half hearted smile on his face.

He tries not to look back at Calum, but he feels the heavy weight of those chocolate colored eyes on him when Luke takes his hand and kisses his cheek.

*****

Michael had told himself he was going to stay away from Calum, that he was going to focus on building something with a boy that he was _allowed_ to love, even if it was hard to see himself in love with said boy.

But only a week into quitting Calum cold turkey, Michael has the horrific realization that he doesn’t know when Calum is leaving, and they’re something like friends if nothing else, he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to the boy that brought him out of his rut.

So he calls the flower shop, and it goes to voicemail. Which is weird, considering it’s a normal business day for both the escort service _and_ the actual flower shop. He leaves a message, inquiring about some poinsettias.

A full day goes by, and nobody calls him back.

He tries calling a second time the next morning, smiling brightly when he hears Ashton on the other end of the line.

“Thanks for calling Smell The Roses, my name is Ashton. Can I get any arrangements set up for you today?” The hazel eyed boy recites, sounding distant and bored.

Michael clears his throat. “Hey, Ashton, it’s Michael calling—um, again. Look, I was wondering if maybe—”

“He’s not available, Michael.” Ashton sneers, straight to the point. Michael’s slightly caught off guard, because normally Ashton is so careful with his underground business, doesn’t use any direct terms like _he’s not available_. Just things like _we should be getting some of those in tomorrow, I can have them delivered to the hotel around five?_

“Oh,” Michael frowns. “Well, another time then.”

There’s a sound like a scoff, and then a: “Yeah, sure.”

He waits another few days before calling again, and this time it’s as though Ashton already knows it’s Michael before he even picks up the phone.

“Look, you have to stop calling. You need to stop this.” Ashton hisses into the phone, and Michael’s really fucking confused because he’s not sure what he’s done wrong. If nothing else, it’s _money_ on the line, why is Ashton so against him right now?

But he backs off anyway. He decides that if Calum isn’t available and Ashton keeps trying to get him uninvolved with the service, then maybe Calum has already moved away.

Maybe it’s easier that way, so Michael doesn’t have to inevitably wake up to an empty bed knowing the beautiful boy will never lie next to him again.

*****

He only makes it a week before he decides he can’t live without knowing whether or not Calum’s skipped town. It’s not like he’ll be mad if he has, he just has to _know_ , because it’s eating him alive. He hasn’t even kept in touch with Luke, can’t focus on him because he’s so hung up on whether or not the last time he’s going to see Calum will have been with another man’s hands all over him.

He pushes through the door of the flower shop, and Ashton immediately perks up from behind the counter. There’s no one else in the shop since they’ve just opened, so when Ashton speaks next, it’s loud and intimidating.

“Michael, come on now. I said he’s not available, can you get the fuck out?” Ashton belts, grasping the counter until his knuckles go white.

Michael sighs, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “Ashton, no, I _can’t_ fucking do that. I just need to know if he’s left already. I can’t stand not knowing, it’s _killing_ me.” He clutches at his chest, only then realizing how heavy and aching it feels.

Ashton makes a sympathetic face before closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. “Fine. He’s still in town.”

The blonde’s heart races at that, and he feels a million times lighter as he scrambles to the counter. Ashton reels back in surprise, but chuckles softly at Michael’s hopeful expression. “I really need to see him.”

He knows it’s a psychotic request, that only a complete lunatic would give a customer personal information on their preferred escort. He’s not expecting Ashton to give him much, just to maybe book a final date so that Michael can say goodbye to Calum properly.

Ashton chews his lip thoughtfully, but nods, reaching under the counter for a pen and paper. He scribbles something down, and Michael’s confused when the paper is slid over to him, an address written on it. He thinks it’s probably a hotel or something, so he thanks Ashton and turns to leave.

“I told Calum not to get so hung up on you,” Ashton mutters fondly, and Michael can’t even be bothered to stop and evaluate what the hell that might mean.

*****

The address ends up being an apartment building, not a hotel. It’s decent, better than Michael’s, and the blonde is willing to bet its elevator _and_ air conditioning work.

He approaches the building, struggling through Ashton’s chicken scratch handwriting, but he deciphers that the room is on the third floor, so that’s where he goes (and the elevator takes him there unscathed).

He knocks on the door of 3B, not really knowing what to expect, but when the door unlocks and swings open to reveal a shirtless Calum, he realizes it wasn’t this.

Calum looks dumbfounded, mouth gaping and eyebrows practically up in his hairline. Michael hands him the paper Ashton had given him, and Calum scoffs.

“Fucking Ashton,” he grumbles.

“You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?” Michael asks simply, and Calum bites his lip, eyes looking guilty and apologetic. He steps aside, waving Michael into his apartment and shutting the door behind them. There’s boxes stacked all around, and it makes the reminder that Calum’s leaving sink that much further into his head.

“It was too hard, okay?” Calum explains. “I couldn’t face you after being seen like that. And I know that’s stupid, because you know what I do for a living, but it’s still humiliating, because you’re different. You were never supposed to see it.”

Michael sighs, reaching out and caressing Calum’s jaw adoringly.

“A-and I couldn’t bear thinking about you with someone else.” Calum continues, clearly referring to Luke, which causes Michael to draw his hand back, blood heating slightly.

“Well, that’s entirely hypocritical, Cal. Because I’ve had to think about you with other people since day one. How fair is that?” Michael spits out, crossing his arms.

Calum narrows his eyes, placing his hands on his hips and attempting to make himself look broader than he really is. “That’s not the same, Michael, I _have_ to be with other people. It’s my _job_.”

Michael closes his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Calum, you were going to _leave_. I _had_ to try to move on if the only person I cared about in this damn world was leaving me.”

He doesn’t mean for the words to tumble out, but they do, and now his confession is hanging in the air. Calum doesn’t react badly, though. In fact, he doesn’t react much at all, like he knew it was coming.

“I had to leave, Mike.” His voice is soft as he steps closer, fingers tracing softly over Michael’s chest. When Michael looks up, he sees that the boy’s eyes are fogged with unreleased tears, and he whimpers empathetically. “I had to leave if the only person I’ve ever loved didn’t see me as anything more than a warm body.”

Suddenly, the words Calum had spoken that night when he thought Michael was asleep make all the sense in the world.

Michael _does_ cry, then, because it’s so ridiculous. He cups Calum’s face between his hands, resting their foreheads together and taking a shaky breath. “Cal, Calum, that’s outrageous. You’ve _never_ been just a warm body. From the beginning you’ve been so much more than that.”

Calum’s eyes meet his, full of hope. “You mean that?”

“I’ve fallen more in love with you every night since the first. I didn’t know it until recently, and I was too scared to admit it because you were off limits.” Michael confesses. Then, more quietly, he says, “You’re not supposed to fall in love with a prostitute.”

Calum’s quiet for a long moment, before he breathes in shakily, a single tear escaping and falling down his cheek. It looks so hauntingly beautiful, Michael doesn’t even wipe it away.

“I’m scared, Mike,” Calum whispers. “I’ve never loved someone before. Fuck, I don’t know _how_ to love someone.”

Michael leans in, ghosting their lips together. “Then let me show you how _I_ love you, and we’ll go from there.”

*****

Calum’s bedroom is all packed up, boxes surrounding the stripped mattress that the two of them are laid out on.

Calum looks so lovely below him, clad only in track pants. Michael moves on top of the boy, kissing him firmly into the bed, grasping him tightly anywhere he can because he is _not_ letting the boy slip away from him again.

Hands slip under his t-shirt, Calum tracing skin that he already knows like the back of his hand. Michael smiles, reaching behind his head and pulling the garment off. Calum gets more eager now that there’s less clothing involved, running his palms up over Michael’s shoulders and pressing down on his back to bring their chests closer.

He rocks his hips forward where they’re trapped between Calum’s legs, and the younger boy moans, pulling away. The volume of the moans increase as Michael turns his rocks into a slow, firm grind, burying his face in Calum’s neck.

“That boy you were with,” Calum starts, and Michael rolls his eyes because now is totally not the time to talk about other guys, he literally just confessed his love for Calum like _ten minutes ago_. “Have you been seeing him?”

Michael shrugs, intending to leave it at that, but he can tell it’s bothering Calum, and he figures the boy deserves to know he’s the only one Michael’s ever wanted. Because he is, honestly. Michael couldn’t leave Calum if he tried, no matter how much Luke and Michael might’ve worked together.

“In class sometimes, he sits behind me.” Michael says, speaking into Calum’s skin, which is damp from being licked and sucked on. “But I haven’t gone on anymore dates with him. I think that ship has long since sailed.”

Calum freezes, gripping Michael’s hair and pulling him back so they can look at each other. “Do you wish it hadn’t? Sailed, I mean.”

The blonde boy shakes his head and trails a hand up Calum’s arm, entwining their fingers and kissing the boy’s knuckles.

“It’s only you,” Michael says solemnly.

It must be good enough for Calum, because he nods once before their mouths are attaching again. Michael groans, pressing back a little harder before Calum’s tongue is tracing at his lips. He doesn’t even have to work for it, Michael’s lips are already parting on a moan the second Calum reaches down and squeezes his ass through his jeans.

He decides pretty quickly after that to remove Calum’s pants as well as his own. There’s too many layers, it’s like they can’t get close enough.

Clad in only their boxers, Calum grinds upwards, and Michael bites his lip on a moan at the delicious contact. Before he can really retaliate with his own move, Calum is sitting up and twisting Michael’s shoulders so that their positions are flipped. Not that he’s complaining, really, he loves seeing Calum move fluidly over his body.

“Always wanted my mouth on you,” Calum mutters, likely to himself, but Michael hums in response anyway. He threads his fingers through Calum’s hair as the boy shimmies down, tugging at Michael’s boxers before sliding them over his legs and tossing them in some random direction.

It should feel weird, Michael thinks, having Calum see him like this, because although it’s not the first time he’s been painfully hard at the hands of the boy, it’s the first time that he’s been completely naked. The first time Calum’s seen him completely exposed.

But it doesn’t feel weird. Calum just looks at him with glazed-over eyes, soaking up every inch of Michael like there’s so much to be explored. There’ll be time for that at a later date, though, so Michael just squirms a little to remind Calum that he’s a real person with a very real and attention-demanding erection, he should be _tended to_ , not _stared at_.

Calum chuckles, the same low sound that Michael recognized in the restaurant, but now it’s _his_ sound, one he knows is reserved for him in the quiet of whatever room they find themselves in.

“Okay, okay.” Calum says in a snarky tone, but it’s still full of fondness and it’s likely neither of them will deny that.

The brunette lowers himself, pressing kisses to each of Michael’s hips before just going for it, grasping Michael’s cock with his long fingers and closing his mouth around the head.

Michael whines, not wanting to close his eyes but having to nonetheless, because he can’t look at Calum’s lips, all red and kiss swollen and parted to get his dick between them. He’ll come embarrassingly quickly if he does.

Not looking is almost worse than if he was, though, because he can’t see what Calum’s gearing up to do before he does it, so every flick of his tongue and slide of his mouth comes as a surprise and has the boy writhing on the bare mattress.

In the end, he can’t take more than a few minutes of it. He reaches down and tightens his grip in Calum’s hair (which has the boy groaning around his cock and _not helping_ ), yanking back.

“Lay down,” Michael whispers, and Calum complies, crawling up to press a quick kiss to Michael’s lips before lying back on the bed.

Michael leaves the bed only for a second before he realizes he has no idea where Calum keeps his condoms and lube, and he _really_ hopes Calum hasn’t packed them yet, because that would just ruin all hopes he had of making love to the boy.

“Nightstand,” Calum helps, and Michael thanks him quickly before turning to the bedside table drawer and retrieving the items.

When he turns back around, Calum has removed his boxers and is stroking himself lazily. His eyes are closed, mouth open and breathing softly. And while it’s an extremely hot thing to see, Calum with a fist around his cock and another hand rolling his balls, it’s not the plan, and Michael’s not having it.

The blonde smacks Calum’s thigh teasingly, just to grab his attention, but the boy just groans at the contact. He files that information away for a later date, because while he definitely wants to see just how hard Calum would let Michael hit him, it’s all about the slow and passionate today, about expressing how much he truly loves the boy.

Gripping Calum’s ankles, Michael spreads the boy’s legs and climbs onto the mattress between them. It seems instinctual, the way Calum’s legs wrap around his waist and lock tightly.

Calum stops jerking himself when he sees Michael dribbling lube onto his fingers, instead reaching to cup his ass and spread himself for easier access.

“Start with two. I can take it.” Calum says, voice wrecked and eyes lidded.

Just as he’s lowering his hand to oblige, Michael’s mind wanders to how many times Calum’s potentially been in this position, how routine it must feel. It must happen so often—random people fucking him—for Calum to know he can take multiple fingers right off the bat.

But Michael doesn’t want routine. Doesn’t want anything to seem rehearsed or déjà vu or _normal_. Not for the boy he loves.

Calum whines when Michael’s fingers don’t enter him, instead pausing just inches away from his hole. He opens his mouth, probably to complain, but Michael cuts him off.

“How many times have you topped, Cal?” Michael asks, looking up to meet the boy’s confused eyes.

“I…it’s been years, probably. Why?” Calum’s eyebrows are furrowed, worry lines tracing across his forehead, and Michael reaches up with his dry hand to smooth his hair and wipe the worry away.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to Calum’s nose. “Switch with me.”

Calum’s jaw drops, more in surprise than horror. It’s probably the first time anyone’s ever asked, since a majority of the people that have paid the boy have likely been empowered men who thought they were too high and mighty to have someone’s dick up _their_ ass.

“W-what?” Calum asks, shakily.

“ _Switch_ with me,” Michael whispers back, planting a series of chaste kisses across the boy’s face.

Calum giggles at the fluttery kisses, but nods, pushing up on Michael’s shoulders to get the boy to lean back. Michael obliges, sitting on his ankles before flopping to the side, landing on his back. Haphazardly, he wipes his lubed up fingers on the mattress, drying them off as Calum settles between his spread legs.

He watches as Calum cautiously coats his fingers in lube, the hand squeezing the little bottle shaking slightly. Michael reaches up, wrapping his own hand around Calum’s uneasy one, offering him a reassuring smile.

“Don’t be nervous,” he murmurs.

Calum huffs out a laugh. “Weird, right? I shouldn’t be nervous, I fuck people for a living. I just…I’ve never done this when I…”

“Was in love?” Michael finishes, and Calum closes his eyes when he nods. He’s closing up again, like the world has suddenly pulled him back under when he was finally resurfacing, and it rips Michael’s heart to shreds.

He wants Calum to be able to love him back, knows the boy _wants_ to love him back, just doesn’t feel like he’s quite allowed to yet.

“Here, kiss me again.” Michael instructs, and Calum does, leaning down and kissing him roughly. It’s a little bit messy, like they can’t be bothered with the mechanics of it, but every time he kisses Calum it seems to get a little bit better than the last time he did.

When Calum’s had his fill and anchored himself to Michael once more, his world seemingly done spinning, he pulls back and presses a finger slowly into Michael.

The blonde bites his lip, the distant familiarity coming back to him slowly (because it’s not like this is the first time he’s ever bottomed), but still burning. Calum mumbles apologies, but he doesn’t stop because he seems to know how stopping halfway through it just makes it feel that much more drastic.

He works his finger slowly, thrusting gently to get Michael used to it. The older boy adjusts quickly, though, starting to rock down onto the digit before incoherently mumbling for another.

Calum gives it to him, a second finger sliding in right next to the first, and for the first time, Michael damns the boy for having such long fingers and big hands. They’ve never been an inconvenience until now.

Except when Calum flicks his wrist in this way, curling his fingers simultaneously, they go from being a problem to the _opposite_ of a problem.

“Holy shit,” Michael whines, back arching. Calum makes a noise of agreement, but it borders a moan, so it’s actually more like a noise of lust. “I’m ready.”

Calum’s eyes darken, blown wide and glazed over with a look Michael can only describe as determination. “You can take one more, first.”

Before Michael can neither protest nor agree, Calum is pushing in a third finger, wiggling the digits to work him open, and Michael tosses his head back on a broken moan. He lifts his hips to get the fingers deeper, and Calum gives it to him, pulling the blonde’s hips closer so he can work his fingers faster.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Michael chokes out, head turning to bite on a pillow that’s not there, hands scrambling to twist into sheets that aren’t on the bed. He’s a mess, can’t focus on anything except for the repeated slam of Calum’s fingers against his prostate.

“Yeah,” Calum answers, as though it’s a proper response. Not that there’s a whole lot to say to someone who’s moaning and writhing beneath you. “Can you come from just this?”

Michael nods, doesn’t even pretend it’s not the truth. He’s already leaking precome, a thin streak of it collecting on his stomach where his cock is pressed flush against it.

He doesn’t _want_ to come this way, though, despite how good it feels. Maybe one day, or even just later tonight, they can experiment with that. But right now, Michael wants to come clenching around Calum’s cock, not his fingers, no matter _how_ wonderful they are.

“Get your cock in me,” Michael begs, voice gravelly and rough, like he’s losing the ability to speak.

Calum obliges, pulling his fingers out before tearing a condom open with his teeth. Michael watches, fascinated, as the brunette rolls it onto himself before rubbing the excess lube onto his cock.

Michael keeps watching as Calum lines up, his eyes cast down to where he’s about to push in, and he looks worried. Michael wants to ask what’s wrong, but he refrains, letting Calum sort through all the gears turning in his mind.

The younger boy closes his eyes and sighs once, deeply, before he opens the chocolate colored orbs and they hold _so much more_ emotion the second they lock with Michael’s.

He finally, _finally_ pushes in, then, and Michael’s jaw drops at the _burnstretchburn_ of it, while Calum’s eyelids flutter in a battle to stay open and maintain the eye contact. Michael wouldn’t blame him if he gave in, if he closed his eyes for a second to collect himself, but to Calum’s credit, he forces them open. Keeps them open as his hips press against Michael’s, as he leans down to rest their foreheads together.

“Fuck,” Calum whispers, cupping Michael’s jaw and stroking over the blonde’s lips with a tanned thumb. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

“You’re so beautiful always.” Michael retorts, and Calum smiles genuinely, eyes squinting with the wideness of it. It’s like he finally believes what he’s being told, and Michael feels hairs all over his body raise up in excitement. He’s a live wire.

“So are you,” Calum says, kissing Michael firmly, and for once, Michael feels it. Feels as beautiful and wanted as Calum says he is, and he’s never felt less alone.

Michael just kisses back, and without needing to be told, Calum pulls out slightly before rocking back in, a slow and easy pace that would take awhile to make Michael come, but it’s perfect, it’s what he wants. He doesn’t want Calum to _just_ get him off. He wants Calum to feel everything Michael has to offer him. Wants to take everything Calum can give him in return.

“I love you,” Michael murmurs against Calum’s lips, and the boy shakes on top of him upon hearing the words. “I know it’s new and scary and maybe too soon for you, but I love you.”

Calum shakes his head, and Michael’s terrified for a second that he might get rejected, that Calum might pull out and say it’s gotten too serious. But Calum just tangles his fingers in Michael’s blonde locks and whispers back, “Don’t need to defend yourself. It’s new and scary and soon and _I love you_ , _too_.”

Michael kisses Calum fiercer, and Calum picks up the force of his hips just slightly, still slow but harder, deeper. He feels so much fuller than he has in ages, legs wrapping around Calum’s waist and digging his heels into the boy’s back to get him impossibly closer.

What’s also soon is Michael’s orgasm, which is threatening to tear through him each time Calum thrusts into him. Maybe it’s because this is a whole new type of sex, a loving kind that he’s pretty sure neither of them have experienced before.

But Michael’s not the only one close to coming, he can feel Calum’s cock twitching as he staves off his own orgasm in favor of touching every inch of Michael’s skin and ensuring he’s in bliss.

“Calum,” Michael whines, the sound splitting as he arches his neck and squeezes his eyes shut tight for the first time since Calum looked into them. “I’m gonna—”

Calum nods excitedly into Michael’s neck, hands reaching down and grasping Michael’s before pinning them down above the blonde’s head, their fingers laced tightly together.

In the end, it’s three little words that send him over the edge, and they’re not the ones he expected to do the job.

“Right with you,” Calum murmurs.

He’s not sure why. Maybe it’s because it confirms he’s got Calum for as long as Calum will have him, but Michael feels overwhelmingly in love in that moment. He feels so entirely at peace with Calum holding his hands and kissing sweetly at his neck and fucking passionately into him, and for once in his life it feels like nothing will take that peace away. Calum’s right with him.

And so he comes, harder than he probably ever has, completely untouched. Calum watches him breathlessly, their eyes meeting again when Calum comes, too, their mouths dropped open on a mixture of whines and pants and silent moans.

Again, Michael can only wonder how they look to an outsider, the closeness of their bodies and the way they’re so wrapped up in the other that no outside force could possibly throw them from each other’s orbits.

“Fuck, I love you,” Michael tells him.

Calum smiles softly, a blush heating his cheeks, and he kisses Michael again.

*****

When Michael wakes up a few hours later, the sun is setting outside, and there’s no one in the bed next to him.

But when he sits up, he sees Calum unpacking some boxes, dressed in his track pants again and looking so absolutely soft in the golden glow coming in through the window.

The brunette looks over, their eyes locking, and they both smile knowingly, because for the first time, Calum’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me here--
> 
> tumblr: dafeedil  
> twitter: @swans0ngs


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